Nettle & Bone(16)

Vorling’s lips tightened over his teeth. “My guards will escort you,” he said in a clipped voice, and he turned on his heel and walked away.



* * *



The guards came for Marra that night after dinner. She had sent the maid away and was staring at the tapestries in her room, pacing from one to another. They mostly showed treaties being signed and were remarkably tedious, but she had to admire the craftsmanship that suggested writing on pages without actually spelling out the letters. That is a fair bit of design. I wonder if I could do that …

One of the tapestries billowed in a draft, perhaps from the palace of dust underfoot. Tomorrow her niece would go to join the ancient kings. It seemed like a cold and lonely place to send a child.

Someone knocked on the door, then opened it immediately. Two guards came in, wearing the white cloaks of the prince’s personal guard. “You are sent for,” said the taller of the two.

Marra nodded. It occurred to her, somewhat belatedly, that guards might address a princess with a little more respect, but here in this place built on dead kings, perhaps there was no great worth to a princess. She walked behind them, her head bowed, and concentrated on looking as much like a nun as she could.

Lady of Grackles, forgive me for this deception. It seems like it must be important.

The chapel where her niece’s body lay in state seemed larger at night, with candles flickering and the shadows looming in the corners. Kania stood just inside the door, her face blank, as if she had stepped away from her own face for a little while and retreated somewhere deep inside.

There were two more guards with her, also clad in white. The four of them went through the chapel, looking in each pew and each shadow. It struck Marra as almost a parody of watchfulness. There were no places to hide in the chapel. Were they trying to impress her with their care? Seeking assassins under the pews?

She was half-surprised that they did not look inside the closed sarcophagus, but they left it alone. When they had scoured the room, the leader of the four nodded curtly to Kania and they left the chapel. Marra heard a bar grinding into a socket as they were locked inside.

“That was … thorough…” she murmured.

Kania snorted. “The prince fears that I keep lovers under every bush,” she said. “If the king had not thought that it was sweet”—she rolled the word on her tongue and spat it out with scorn—“I would not have been allowed even this much solitude.”

“Oh,” said Marra faintly. She swallowed. Kania? Keeping lovers? She understood all the words, but they did not seem to line up in her head. “Oh.”

They knelt together at the rail before the coffin. Kania settled heavily, her belly swollen against her legs. Marra wanted to tell her that it was too many pregnancies, ask her if she knew about the ways to stop from conceiving, but how could you do that in a room with a dead child? Instead she bowed her head and tried to pray. Our Lady of Grackles, please … please … She could not think of anything to pray for. What did you ask for when a child was dead? Please make this as easy on my sister as you can, she thought finally. That seemed like the only thing worth asking for.

She stared at the stone coffin and thought again of how she had felt relief that it was only her niece who had died. Shame washed through her. She dropped her eyes to her hands.

“You learned to pray in the convent,” said Kania quietly.

“I suppose,” Marra said. “Mostly I learned about ways to weave and embroider. And how to shovel a stable. And lately, how to deliver a baby.” She glanced over at Kania, wondering if this was an opening, but her sister said nothing.

They continued to kneel. The candles burned down slowly, a drop of wax sliding down the pale pillars.

After what seemed like an hour, Kania said, “My daughter is in this coffin, and I do not feel anything.” She gazed at the small sarcophagus, dry-eyed. “Did your convent teach you what to do about that?”

Marra swallowed hard and shook her head.

“They took her from me as soon as she was born,” Kania said. “You remember? I did not hold her, not even for a moment. They took her to her father, and then to the wet nurse. She had an army of nursemaids and tutors. I saw her for a few minutes a day at most.” She shook her head slowly. “There were so many things I missed, and I did not even know that I was missing them. She took her first step and spoke her first words, and I heard from the nursemaids.”

“Perhaps you mourned then,” said Marra, hoping desperately that it was true. I didn’t mourn her, either, and now it seems like no one is, not really, and that’s not right.

“Perhaps. But I should be mourning now,” Kania said, sounding thoughtful. “I should be destroyed. This should be the greatest pain that a mother could know. And yet it is as if a stranger’s child had died. I feel badly for that stranger, but it does not seem as if it has anything to do with me.”

“I’m sorry,” croaked Marra. Our Lady of Grackles, please tell me what to say. Our Lady of Grackles, please fix this because I can’t.

“I am, too.” Kania shifted her pregnant bulk, grimacing. She put a hand to the small of her back and winced, then stretched her arms out along the prayer rail. “They took my daughter and now they have taken even my ability to mourn her. The children I lost before they were born—they felt more real than this.”